Elissa Mackintosh

Opening scene: introduces protagonist-setting-tone-antagonist-foreshadowing of primary conflict. Laila Rae Lebonski fell into the grave headfirst. Well, it wasn’t an actual real grave, just a muddy pit, at the bottom of Great Field. Junket and I looked down at her. Slowly Laila Rae pushed herself to her knees and stared at the bones. Junket scrunched up his face, "you alright Laila Rae?" "Yuck," she said in answer, before standing up. I wasn't sure if that was from landing on a skeleton, or the mud in her hair, on her face, her hands, her t-shirt, her jeans, and her tutu. Looking down at her feet she tried lifting a foot. Nothing happened. Laila Rae held up her hands. "I'm stuck. Pull me out." Junket and me each took a hand and hauled her out. Laila Rae left a welly behind. She hung on to my arm, grabbed the welly, and tugged. It came out of the mud with a squelch. We hadn't been looking for bones, we'd been looking for coins with the help of Butter, my Dad's police dog. We'd watched Butter sniff and dig, and sniff and dig, and then he just dug. After a few minutes Junket had said in a weird husky voice, "Maudie, that looks like a bone." I'd looked into the pit Butter had dug. It was a bone. "Leave it," I'd said. Butter sat, panting, his coat, the colour of coal and milk chocolate, shiny in the afternoon sunshine, except for his muddy legs and belly. Dad would want me to give him a bath with the hose. Butter doesn't like baths, which means I usually get as wet as he does. Dad likes to say this is not an unintended consequence. Laila Rae, who had been searching for things to put in her bucket, had gone to look in the hole. "It's more than one bone," she’d said, "I think it's lots of bones, joined together." She’d put down her yellow bucket, squatted, stretched out a hand to touch them and that's when she'd pitched forward. I hadn't seen a skeleton before. Well, I had. I'd seen a skeleton of a dinosaur at the National History Museum, and one on some medical show on the telly, but not one in the ground. And definitely not one that shouldn't be where this one was. In the mud, in the middle of a field. "We should keep away from the hole," I said. "Mum says preserving the scene is a fundamental element in an investigation." Junket looked at me, his eyes wide. "It's suspicious, isn't it?" "Yeah, this isn't the village graveyard, and a skeleton shouldn't be here." "Maybe it's really old, like caveman old," said Laila Rae. Junket shook his head. He pointed up at the white horse carved into the chalk on the side of the hill. "Back in those times they buried people in Waylands Smithy up on the hill," he said, "not down here." "Exactly," I said, "it's not somewhere usual so it falls under the suspicious category." We all looked at it some more. I could see ribs and long bones that must be legs. "And," I said, "it's not really buried that deep. Probably got moved about when Mr. Parsons' tractor plowed last week." "Mr. Parsons' plows every year," said Junket. "Funny it hadn't turned up 'til now." "And," said Laila Rae holding up a finger, "right after that man found a coin." Junket nodded, "it does seem a bit strange." "I think we should get Dad," I said. For things like finding bones, I think Mum is usually better, because she's a Detective Sergeant with the Wiltshire Police, and is in charge of people and investigations. But she was at work. So that meant Dad. My Dad is a Police Constable and says, "he's only in charge of his own mind and his dogs." He has two police dogs, Butter, a Staffie who finds stuff, and Crash a German Shepherd, who does the rest. Plus we have Gemma a Golden Retriever, who's old, and hogs the fire, Puggles the Pug, who Mum says should be called Piddles the Pug, and Macavity a tabby cat, who Dad says is more cantankerous than the average criminal. Mum says this is unsurprising since he lives with a hooligan and four dogs. I don't think of my Dad as a hooligan, especially since he's in the police. Last week someone had found an old Roman coin in the mud, worth over fifty pounds, when they were walking their dogs. Mum said it was identified by a local expert in numis-something. We'd decided to take Butter to see if we could find one too. Butter usually finds things like drugs and illegal money but point his nose at something and he'll find stuff. It's why we started the Four Paws Finding Agency. I'm the President of the Agency because Butter is the most important part, and he kind of belongs to me. We're not that busy, but last Sunday Charlie Badgely had asked the Agency to find his reading glasses, which he'd dropped in his allotment, and Butter found them under the big leaves of a marrow. Charlie said he'd put the word out about how good our Agency is. Anyway, Butter had made straight for a big shallow crater in the ground and after sniffing a lot, he'd started digging. And we'd let him get to it, because finding an old coin worth a lot of money would be really exciting. That morning we'd left our bikes at the end of Falpits Lane and walked to the bottom of Great Field below Swan Farm. Not that there are any swans about for miles. So, we tramped back to our bikes, peddled back to my house on Long Hedge Lane, which is right at the end of our village, Bottom Poggs. We passed the Church and the allotments, where Charlie Badgely was hoeing. He waved at us, and we waved back. Butter got home before we did because he cut through neighbours' gardens and did what Junket calls the hypotenuse hustle. "Dad!" I called. "Dad, where are you?" "In the kitchen enjoying my day off," said my Dad, as he came into the hallway holding Four Four Two in one hand, a boring magazine about footie, and a cup of coffee in the other. "What's up?" And then, "what are you thinking? You're covered in mud. Go back outside." "We found bones, Mr. Compton," said Junket. Dad did what I call his police pause. He says he pauses because he checks in his head to make sure he asks the correct question. "Bones ... where?" Dad asked. I don't think he needed a police pause to come up with that question. But he's a very careful person. "At the coin place," said Laila Rae. Dad raised his eyebrows, "the coin place?" "You know," I said, "at the bottom of Great Field, below Swan Farm. Where that dog walker found a coin." "Ah," said Dad. "And I suppose you took Butter to find more coins." "Yes," I said, "but he found bones." "And these bones are ......?" said Dad. "A fox? A dog?" "No," I said, "it's not an animal. There are only two legs." "Two legs?" "Laila Rae got close," I said. "Two legs right Laila Rae?" Laila Rae confirmed with a nod and said. "Real close. Just two legs. And an arm's missing." "You didn't say that before," said Junket, "about the arm." "I was stuck," said Laila Rae, "so I was thinking about not sinking anymore. Not arms missing." "But," I said, "it's kind of a big thing not to say." "Yes," said Junket, "a missing arm is significant." "I was about to be sucked into the centre of the earth," said Laila Rae, "with a skeleton." "You're just being dramatic," said Junket. "I am not," said Laila Rae. "I FELL ON A SKELETON." "But an arm missing," I said. "That's important information." "Stop talking," said my Dad in a voice that wasn't loud but had that 'I mean it' tone about it. We stopped. "You better show me," he said. We piled into the car, the three of us in the back sitting on an old towel. Dad drove us to the end of Falpits Lane. "Okay," said Dad, "tell me where. You kids stay here." "But ...... " I said. "Stay here Maudie. Right here." "Okay," I said. Dad followed our directions, and I watched him walk over to the hole Butter had dug. He took out his phone, snapped a photo and after a few seconds held the phone up to his ear. I could hear his voice, but I couldn't hear the words. "He looks serious," said Junket. "Whatcha think?" said Laila Rae. Dad pulled something out of his pocket and stuck it in the ground before walking carefully backwards. I knew what that meant, he'd marked his own footprints, so they couldn't be confused with anyone else's. That meant it was a crime scene. "I think we have a murder," I said. "A real live murder." "You can't call it a live murder," Laila Rae objected, "not when somebody's dead." "But the person who did it isn't," I said. "So, you can if you are referring to the bad guy." "Could be a woman," said Laila Rae. "True," I said. "We don't really know it's murder," said Junket. "We're just assuming." "Who drops dead in field, and nobody knows about it?" I asked. "I think someone buried the person there after they killed him." "Could be a her," said Laila Rae. "Could be," I agreed. "So what happens next?" asked Laila Rae. "It'll get taped off," I said. "Crime scene people will come out." Dad walked back over to us. "Crime scene," he said. "You guys need to stay away." "Told you," I said. "Who do you think it is Mr. Compton?" Laila Rae asked. "No idea," said Dad, "But I'll tell you something." “What?” we asked.

1. Story Statement Find the stolen coins and with the reward bring a sister back home. 2. The Antagonist Plots the Point Charlie Badgely was born in Bottom Poggs, in fact on the kitchen floor of his mother’s tiny cottage, in relative poverty. And he’s been resentful ever since. Hired as a member of wait staff at the posh Haverly Hall masked ball he concocts a plan to steal a precious coin collection and two valuable rabbit sculptures. But the heist goes horribly wrong, he loses his loot, and unbeknownst to the village someone ends up dead. A reward is offered for the return of stolen items. But no one comes forward. Thirty years later the skeleton is discovered by three children and a police dog, who hunt for the missing treasure and the reward. Charlie spies on their sleuthing and realizes they are making progress. On the outside he is affable, good-natured Charlie, who works peacefully on his allotment, growing vegetables, and chatting sociably with the children, but on the inside he is seething with bitterness for a lost opportunity and, as he sees it, being forced to murder someone. When the protagonist, Maudie, is close to uncovering the truth Charlie’s anger bubbles over and Maudie’s life is in jeopardy. 3. Breakout Title The Secrets of Bottom Poggs: A Four Paws Finding Agency Mystery Henry VIII’s Treasure: A Four Paws Finding Agency Mystery Double Dog Dare: A Four Paws Finding Agency Mystery 4. Genre and Approaching Comparables Middle Grade Mystery Mo and Dale Mysteries Sheila Turnage Hide and Geek T.P. Jagger 5. Logline Discovering an old skeleton and a stolen coin in a muddy field three friends, and two police dogs, must uncover old village secrets to find all the coins, earn the reward, and bring a much-missed big sister back home. 6. Protagonist’s Inner Conflict As a daughter of a Detective Sergeant and a Police Dog Handler Maudie tries hard to emulate her parents and do the right thing, but she is impetuous and headstrong. She misses her big sister who argues with their mother, and has moved out, and Maudie wants the reward for finding stolen loot to fund a big sister bedsit over their garage, although in her heart she knows her sister could stay where she is and use the money to pay for nursing school. And subconsciously she’d like to fix the relationship between her sister and her mother. 7. Setting Nestled in the Vale of the White Horse, Wiltshire, Bottom Poggs is based on the real village of Shrivenham, where sheep graze high on the hills, cats perch on stone walls with inscrutable expressions, and ponies stick their heads over gates hoping for a polo mint from a passerby. This bucolic setting is also the local village of the British Defence Academy, where individuals come from all over the world to study at the military university. In one of several village pubs, you might find a farmer, an astro physicist and a retired army colonel deep in conversation. For some villagers it’s the only home they’ve ever known, and everybody knows everybody, and by extension their business. For others it’s a new home, where their stay is usually transitory, although from time to time through jobs or relationships or asylum, they settle there. The church, with its 13th century tower, speaks to a long history of village life, while the constant flow of different ethnicity, cultures and language makes this both a cosmopolitan and stuck-in-time location. It’s not unusual to find Bottom in English village names – examples Scratchy Bottom in Dorset and Slap Bottom in Hampshire. And there is a Broughton Poggs in West Oxfordshire, not far from Shrivenham.